Live to Love
by Ramzes
Summary: All three sons of Aegon the Unlikely wed for love, in defiance of their father's wishes and to the sorrow of the realm. This is their story. A sequel to A Queen To Be.
1. Chapter 1

_Live to Love_

Chapter 1

Rhaenyra Targaryen had just received the news of her royal father's death. Dark wings had brought dark words. Loyal friends at the capital had alerted her that her brother Aegon had just claimed the crown, with the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard proclaiming him King Aegon, the second of his name. She was anxiously twisting the rings on her fingers when the book was unceremoniously taken out of Jaehaerys' hands. He sighed wearily.

"What do you want, Duncan?" he asked without bothering to look who it was.

His eldest brother grinned. Snow was still melting in his hair into a dirty pool all over Jaehaerys' clean carpets. His indigo eyes shone.

"Come on, little brother. I am going out. Do you care to join me?"

Jaehaerys hesitated. Cold was never good for his frail constitution, yet the preparations for the tourney could not leave even him indifferent. Knights trained day and night. Ladies whispered and prepared their very best gowns, making sure that they had enough ribbons, sleeves, and scarves to give away as favours. Smallfolk also loved tourneys – they made a good piece of vendor's businessq with all the knights and visitors who were coming in a flow. Besides, jousts were always joy to watch. At night, Jaehaerys often stayed awake late, listening to the excitement of the city. He wanted so much to be part of it, yet his birth, his duties, and his bad health separated him from the cheerful mood.

"Yes," he said. "I do."

The surprise on Duncan's face was so plain that it was comical. It was Jaehaerys' turn to grin. "Well?" he said. "Are we leaving? Or did you mean that we would go tomorrow?"

Duncan's surprise faded and he took Jaehaerys by the hand, lest his brother reconsidered.

"But no guards," he elaborated.

Jaehaerys lifted a fair eyebrow. "Of course not," he agreed and they did their best to keep as low profile as possible, just in case someone saw them and their attempted escapade reached their father's ears – or worse yet, their mother's. They would never make it to the gates without a squadron of guards. Maybe even a Kingsguard or three. When they passed by the part of the castle where the most highborn guests were lodged, they called Robar Baratheon, the heir of Storm's End, to join them.

The three young men happily headed down Aegon's Hill. Jaehaerys looked incredibly white and fair-haired between his swarthy dark-haired companions. He pulled his hood down, for this silvery-gold hair of his would give all of them away and they would rather disappear in the crowd. He inhaled the cold air deeply, although he knew he shouldn't. But it felt so refreshing.

"If your father gets to know about this, he'll be angry," Robar whispered.

Jaehaerys smiled. "It doesn't matter," he said. "I don't care about his anger. My lady mother, on the other hand…"

Next to him, Duncan shuddered.

The main streets were full of people. Vendors sold as many goods as they would normally sell for a month. All stores were seething with customers. Jaehaerys checked that his hood was in place once again and waited until his brother and friend went over various shields and spears. For a while, the two of them argued whether round shields were better than rectangular ones or the other way round. Finally, each of them bought his shield of choice, unable to convince the other one that they were in the right.

In a small goldsmith's store, they made the goldsmith show them all his best things. Finally, the two princes chose a necklace of emerald and rubies for their mother, a slim sapphire bracelet for their aunt Daella, and a silver chain for their sister Rhaelle. For a while, Robar stared at a ruby ring but didn't buy it.

"Is it for your lady mother?" Duncan asked and suddenly whispered in a low voice, "If you're short of money, how much should I lend you?"

Robar blushed and failed to answer. Behind his back, Jaehaerys shook his head reproachfully at Duncan, although they were both smiling. They knew that their friend would gladly present their sister with the jewel but he didn't dare…

Duncan bought a slim silver tiara, too, inlaid with nine star-shaped sapphires.

"Who is this for?" Rhaelle asked in the evening. "It's beautiful."

Duncan grinned. "Not for you, sister dearest, if that's what you think. I'll give it to my lady as soon as I crown her Queen of Love and Beauty tomorrow."

Rhaelle looked at him and raised an eyebrow. "Oh? So there is _a_ lady?" she asked. "What a relief. I already imagined how we'd have to tear the laurel in petals to keep all of your ladies pleased…"

From his place near the window, Aemon snickered. Annoyed by being laughed at by an eight-year old, Duncan glared at both him and Rhaelle. None of them was impressed. Aemon kept petting his hound; Rhaelle kept sewing.

"Hey!" Duncan protested. "I am not _this_ bad."

"You are," Rhaelle and Jaehaerys chorused. "Besides," Jaehaerys went on, teasing him,"are you so certain that you'll win? I hear that Robar is making a rapid progress…"

"Well," Duncan said easily, "that's my problem, right? He won't be as easy a rival as you would be should you decide to enter the lists but…"

The silence fell, heavy and uncomfortable. The fact that Jaehaerys would never be able to enter a tournament was a fact that they all knew – and never discussed. Had he not been the King's son, he would have probably never been knighted. His premature birth had left him weaker compared to Duncan and Rhaelle. Each childhood illness had found its way to him, leaving him paler, thinner, more fragile. Even now, when he was grown up, he might start choking at a new scent his mother wore. His arms were so frail – he could never hold even a lighter sword for long. Bets were constantly placed about when he would die. People talked derisively behind his back, thinking him weak and unmanly. But no one had ever said anything to his face – courtiers would not dare and while his siblings had mocked him as children, now they realized that it would be downright cruel of them. Jaehaerys knew the truth better than anyone else. He didn't need it being shoved down his throat.

Duncan's face went white. Rhaelle's head snapped up and her eyes bore into him.

"But I didn't mean…" Duncan stammered. "I only…"

He was dismayed with himself and simply couldn't finish. He silently pushed his chair away and left the chamber without looking back.

"He really didn't want to offend, it was just a joke," Rhaelle said in the sudden silence around them. "He hadn't sprouted such things in five years, at least."

"You think I am stupid and I don't understand?" Jaehaerys asked.

"Seven help me!" she exclaimed. "Why are you so sensitive of everything that has something to do with…"

"Go and bring him back," Jaehaerys cut her off. "Bring him back before he slits his throat at the thought that I might have taken offense. Explain it to him that I am far more thick-skinned than the two of you seem to think."

But it was a lie. Duncan's words reminded him that he was not considered worthy. He would never be, for a man's worth was in being warrior. Only the Seven knew how hard he needed to work to master the very basics of martial art – and he would never be more than mediocre, if that. He could never enter the lists in a tournament, not unless he wanted to be humiliated by having rivals who would lose willingly to ingratiate themselves with him.

He'd rather die.

He'd never be cheered as loudly as Duncan and young Aemon, or even Rhaelle. Instead, he'd always be assessed for any signs of impeding death.

He'd never crown the one he wanted Queen of Love and Beauty…

As he always did, he chased these thoughts away. He would never fall prey to self-pity. But as he grew older, he often lay awake at night, wondering how things might have been if he had been born just two months later.

Aemon was still busying himself with the huge dog. Next to the fireplace, Alaenys Blackfyre returned to her embroidery. She pitied him, of course, but she did not show it and for this, Jaehaerys was grateful.

"Care to try it on?" he asked lightly.

She gave him a look of surprise. Jaehaerys smiled and looked at the tiara. "It would look marvelous on you, I am sure."

She blushed.

_What am I doing,_ Jaehaerys asked himself. It was bad enough to know that Duncan would crown her if he won. The others didn't know but Jaehaerys always took notice of how they looked at each other when they thought no one was watching. Nothing would come out of it, of course. Alaenys was a war prize, for all that she was a beloved companion of theirs. She was a _Blackfyre_. Duncan would never wed her – and Jaehaerys was sure she knew it. But she was beautiful and Duncan was – well, Duncan. It was only to be expected that she'd fall under his charm should he chose to exercise it. Really, who was Jaehaerys to judge? He could never win any lady's heart and he recognized that this fact made him bitter.

Especially when it came to Alaenys.

"Do you really think he'll crown me?" she asked suddenly, eagerly.

Jaehaerys smiled. "I am sure," he said and wondered whether he wanted it to be true.

As if on cue, the subject of their conversation came back, distraught, shepherded by a very determined Rhaelle. Jaehaerys looked at them and forced another smile. "Come on," he said. "I'll even lay some bets on you tomorrow – but don't tell Robar," he added conspiratorially.

Duncan's face immediately relaxed. He really couldn't bear it when Jaehaerys was angry with him. "You are the best, do you know that?" he said, beaming in relief.

Jaehaerys shook his head. "Of course I know that," he said.

Aemon rose and went to put up the shutters. The bustle of King's Landing was suddenly cut off and Jaehaerys was glad. Rarely before the excitement of the city had given him such a sharp pain.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for your lovely reviews, Oberon Sexton and soso-lacks-imagination. They are deeply appreciated.**

_Live to Love_

Chapter 2

"Is it your favour that our dear Robar is wearing?" Jaehaerys asked, watching his sister curiously as next to them Alaenys leaned over to cheer for the young Baratheon as he rode for the next joust. "I mean, did he finally manage to get himself among all those you secretly gave your favour to?"

"Keep silent!" Rhaelle hissed and cast a quick look at their mother but fortunately, the Queen hadn't heard a thing – she was too engrossed with the joust. Rhae Targaryen had always loved such displays. A seat away, their aunt Daella smiled conspiratorially and Rhaelle smiled back. A lady was supposed to give her favour to one knight only but since many knights kept silence whose favour they wore, for the last few tournaments Rhaelle had given away in secret enough tokens to favour the participants in an entire melee all by herself.

The two rivals rode at each other, aiming the long wooden lances at each other. The crowd around the jousting field held their breath and gave a cheer of both joy and disappointment when both men hit the mark but none managed to unhorse the other. They went to the far ends of the field to prepare for the next tilt. Around Jaehaerys, the people on the dais stirred and started talking.

_It is going very well, for now,_ the young Prince thought. He knew that his father had had some misgivings but for now, King Aegon's fears have been proven unfounded. Smallfolk loved tournaments and lords and knights could not miss the chance to distinguish themselves. That outweighed the fact that the current Tourney of the Hand was being held to celebrate the elevation of a hated Dornishman to the second highest rank in the realm. The Blackfyre Rebellions had not taken place so long ago and Dorne was still a new and disturbing place for the rest of the Seven Kingdoms, so too many had been disgruntled with Lord Alor Gargalen being given the honours they thought were reserved for them and theirs or at least, other people of the initial six kingdoms. Worse yet was the fact that Lord Gargalen's main merit seemed to be his lady wife, the King's own sister Princess Daella.

But all of this seemed forgotten in the clattering of hooves and the impacts of lances. Jaehaerys looked down eagerly and grinned when this time, Robar did unhorse his opponent. Everyone cheered wildly and Alaenys actually jumped from her seat to throw him a flower. He raised his visor and gallantly blew her a kiss. The crowd erupted in even greater cheer.

She was so fond of such events. Sure, Jaehaerys' mother and sister also loved them but Alaenys' passion for them ran deeper. It was almost as if she believed in the old tales of valiant knights and noble combats. As if she believed that the ones who won were the best men in the Seven Kingdoms. It was odd for a girl who had had such a hard life as hers but at the same time, Jaehaerys understood her. She had lost her mother very early in life. All she had ever known was the life with the Golden Company, the husband forced upon her when she had been still a child and then – her life in captivity with them. Sure, at King's Landing she lacked for nothing and she was always treated as a dear friend of Rhaelle's but she would forever stay the Blackfyre girl. She could never wed a high lord. She could never rely on the advantages of her blood, the advantages the first Daemon Blackfyre had lost away to all his descendants. All she would ever have was what the King would see fit to give her. No wonder she wanted to make believe that the veneer she saw here was real. No wonder she admired tournament knights. He could not begrudge her this.

"We'll see, Baratheon," Duncan murmured from behind Jaehaerys who startled – he hadn't heard his approach. "The champion is not settled just yet."

"Don't lose my money, brother," Jaehaerys said, smiling.

Duncan grinned. "Never fear. Be ready to applaud the new champion as soon as I take the field."

Always so sure of himself. Jaehaerys shook his head fondly. As good a friend as Robar was, he really wished for Duncan to be the victor. It would be a crashing blow to all his expectations if he didn't make it.

Rhaelle, though, did not seem certain whom she wanted to win; amused, Jaehaerys saw her applauding each well aimed strike. _She must really like Robar_, he realized, stunned, because for all her squabbles with Duncan, she had always cheered for him and him alone. Until now. When his glance fell on his aunt, he saw that Daella, too, had taken notice. The smile had faded off from her devastatingly lovely face, her lips were thin and white. Jaehaerys knew that her first marriage to the then Lord Baratheon had been less than successful but it had never occurred to him that she might be holding grudge against the House.

The crowd's gasp turned his attention back to the jousting field; he cheered along with the others as the herolds announced the end of the joust, with Duncan being the winner, having unhorsed Robar in the third tilt. The crowd went wild, for Duncan was really everyone's favourite; with his easy charm, he won the heart of everyone he met, everywhere he went. Their grandfather King Maekar and his sister, the Dowager Queen Aelinor, had been of the same mind: that he was the very image of their brilliant brother Baelor Breakspear. Prince Baelor had been able to turn enemies into friends, it was said. Duncan certainly could.

Now he was being presented with a wreath of silver roses. Of course, he had to make a spectacle out of choosing his Queen of Love and Beauty, too, looking this way and that, leaving disappointed breaths and trails of guesses wherever he went. Jaehaerys' smile did not waver when, accompanied by the excited whispers of the crowd, his brother rode straight to the dais and placed the wreath into Alaenys' outstretched hands.

The wild cheering that erupted showed clearly the love people of King's Landing bore their handsome and chivalrous Prince. Really, who else would think of honouring a mere captive, a war prize, a Blackfyre? A lesser man would have chosen a lady from one of the great Houses but Prince Duncan could really see truth for what it was, because this Alaenys Blackfyre really was a beauty to remember…

King Aegon was shaking his head. Queen Rhae looked vaguely disappointed. Jaehaerys did his best to not look at Alaenys because the enthralled look in her eyes following Duncan pained him, even as he congratulated his brother, most sincerely at that. He felt his mother's eyes on him but he didn't look at her, lest she noticed his sudden anger. It was the Queen who had set him up for the profound disappointment he so often felt at such events. _Why am I always sick, Mother_, he would ask her often as he fought yet another fever. And she would smile and say that it was nothing, that all children got sick. _Not true, _he would argue. _Rhaelle and Duncan don't._ At this, she would take his hand and explain that it was only because he was still so young, younger than his siblings, that he'd grow up strong and healthy. And yes, he would be just as good at his sword practice as Duncan, he'd be as great a knight as the Kingsguard... How he had waited! Now, he could not say the exact moment when he had stopped believing her. But he still remembered the bitterness of the realization that he'd never become healthy, that his entire life would be like this – and a very short life it would be, probably. And he remembered the pain of knowing that his mother had lied to him.

In time, it would probably stop hurting. But now… now he was seventeen and he longed for all the things that young men his age took for granted.

Fortunately, he would always have his books.

* * *

_The same night…_

"Come back here, you little devil!" Jaehaerys called out.

Only an echo of laughter answered him. And then, "Come and catch me!" A moment later, nothing showed that his brother had ever been there.

Smiling, Jaehaerys sat down on the nearest bench to draw a breath. He had expected this escapade of Aemon's. About an hour ago, the boy had run into his chambers, creating a veritable havoc in no time at all and using Jaehaerys as a public to talk about the tournament. Then, he had gone docile and it had been just about time for him to go berserk again. Jaehaerys reasoned that it would be better for him to get Aemon occupied until he exhausted all his energy, otherwise the boy would create a marvelous spectacle in the hall, to Jaehaerys and his siblings' amusement – and to their parents horror! Jaehaerys could just imagine him entering the great hall riding the King's favourite mount… He started to rise when his brother's voice startled him from behind. "You didn't even come after me! How can you be such a bore?"

"I manage," Jaehaerys murmured to no one at all because Aemon had gone off again. He looked up at the sky and as always was entranced by the very enormity of it, by the dark veil that made the stars shimmer ever so brightly. He loved sitting in the garden watching the sky, even when it was the hard winter sky and the air was cold and bearing no scent at all. He could spend the night here, figuratively speaking.

From the other side of the hedge, he noticed two shadows. The winds carried voices that he recognized and he was about to rise and join them when Elfrik Ascall said something that made him pause. "I found two ladies today," the young heir of Good Joy declared. "One for you and one for me. They are both in love with you, of course, but I'll keep the blond one anyway."

Duncan laughed. "No problem," he said, with generous air. "Blonds are not my taste, anyway. You can have her."

Elfrik also laughed. "I'm glad to hear it. I was afraid that your passion for your Queen of Love and Beauty had ruined you for good life. There was a time I actually thought you might wed her."

The sheer absurdity of the idea made Duncan roar with laughter.

Now, they were closer to the hedge. Jaehaerys could not rise and go away without them noticing, so he stayed and he listened.

"You looked like a one woman's man," Elfrik insisted.

Duncan snorted. "Me? Never. And besides, it isn't as if she's given up to my charm. I'm doing my best, though. Maybe tonight I'll be lucky," he added, playfully. "After all, I did crown her, didn't I? She must have melted enough…"

Jaehaerys was sure that his brother was winking. The anger that overcame him was so fierce that he was stunned. He was half of a mind to go and tell him what he thought about him when the bush behind him stirred. There was someone else there – someone else who had heard, too.

He looked aside, for the pain in her moonlit face was worse to bear than her happiness from today.

Silently, she grasped his hand and squeezed it, as if she wanted him to steady her. He was about to rise and help her sit down but she shook her head. Together, they waited for the two young, carefree newcomers to go on their way.

Finally, Jaehaerys rose and she let go. He hesitated, not knowing what to say, how to make her feel better. "He didn't mean it like this," he said. "He's really infatuated with you, I know this. He's just…" His voice faded helplessly. Duncan was Duncan – well-meaning, chivalrous, and a skirtchaser to the boot. Alaenys should have known it.

"Please," she said. Her voice was scratchy, hoarse. "Don't."

For a while, they stayed silent. Finally, she drew a deep breath and stood straighter. "Thank you," she said. "For staying with me. We must go now."

He was not sure that she should be alone so soon after the disappointment. She met his eye and shook her head, smiling slightly. "No," she said. "Don't be afraid for me. I'm going to the Great Hall. I am the Queen of Love and Beauty, aren't I? I have to dance with the champion."

She was dressed in a magnificent gown of black and silver. The silver wreath made her hair darker. Her indigo eyes were huge and deep. She was bejeweled with what Jaehaerys recognized as his mother's amethysts.

She was so beautiful. Only the sparkle in her eyes was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

Once again, thanks for the lovely reviews, Oberon Sexton and soso-lacks-imagination. You keep me inspired.

_Live to Love_

Chapter 3

The documents on the table were stacked in piles that were too high for the King's liking. Ships, taxes, building works… and they all waited for his attention. And that was even without taking the Iron Bank into account. The inundation that had ravaged Lannisport and its great sea walls in the last year of his father's reign had cost them the last payment due to the Iron Bank and since it had been immediately followed by a new Blackfyre Rebellion, Maekar's death, and the upheaval that was to be expected of it, they had not managed to pay the debt in full. And they were now being reminded of their obligation, quite clearly.

And now, he had to make another decision. A political one, yes, but personal, as well.

Two of the men he expected arrived shortly after each other. The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard loomed over them even when they were all seated, although not as much. His white cloak gleamed; amused all of a sudden, the King remembered the times when the man had not owned a garment that was not threadbare. Even cleanliness had been a problem for them, let alone keeping their attire immaculate.

The other man was older. His right arm stood rigid, almost immobile, deep lines gathered around the corners of his eyes and mouth but his manner betrayed careful attention, although he didn't say anything except for the formal greeting. Once again, Aegon realized the calming effect Ser Galend Highhill had on him. It was no wonder why Aegon's father had preferred him to all other members of the court.

"Well?" Ser Duncan the Tall asked. "Shouldn't we start?"

The King shook his head. "I'd rather wait for Alor…"

The newly appointed Hand of the King appeared shortly after and bowed. For a moment, he stood silhouetted against the window, his black doublet and breeches even darker against the newly fallen snow. His lithe figure kept the illusion of youth and he was every bit as strong and skillful as the man Aegon had first seen on that fierce Dornish sand steed of his twenty years ago when he and Rhae had been running from their pursuers. Alor Gargalen and his party had appeared out of nothing and defended them. Alor Sand, he had been then. In that day, Aegon had had no idea that a few years later the young Dornishman would wed his sister and become a beloved member of the family. Even Maekar had come to appreciate his goodson.

Time had left lines where the skin had once been smooth, and reason where there once had been fierceness, although that hot Dornish blood of his still roared thunderously when provocations reached the limit of his patience. Aegon trusted him as he did few others.

"Take a seat," he invited, taking notice of his friend's pallor. Those with Dornish blood did not fare well in winter. Lack of sunlight made them ill, it seemed.

Next to each man, there was a bowl of dried fruit and a goblet of wine. They all drank.

"How fares Daella?" Aegon asked. "I haven't seen her lately."

Alor shrugged. "As well as she could be expected. She can barely eat but she can growl and bare her harmless teeth at everyone. She can't wait for the babe to arrive."

For a while, they were silent before the King finally started. "I've summoned you here because it's time to discuss something of great importance."

They all listened.

"It's a family matter, as well as a political one," Aegon went on. "It's time to think of Duncan's wedding. He has seen twenty namedays already. Rhaelle has seen eighteen… When I was their age, I already expected Jaehaerys."

Alor and Ser Duncan nodded affirmatively. Until now, Duncan and Rhaelle had showed no great hurry for the wedding and the King had respected their wishes. But the Seven Kingdoms could not wait indefinitely.

"This trick of his on the tournament…" Aegon murmured. Sure, a crown of flowers was just a crown of flowers… in the eyes of the populace. In the King's eyes it was yet another sign of Duncan's lack of desire to do his duty. He should have crowned Rhaelle and started talking about their upcoming wedding… but no, not Duncan Targaryen. "I am done with him. I've been indulging his whims for long enough… and the same stands for Rhaelle. They will be wed in three moons. I am tired of waiting for them to turn responsible."

He pretended not to notice the others' looks. When he had eloped with Rhae, he had been still seventh or eighth in the line of succession, not the Prince of Dragonstone.

"What do you think?" he asked. "My lord Hand?"

"I think it's time for the Prince to wed," the Dornishman said without hesitation. "The realm loves him but it won't last long. We need stability and certainty in the succession."

Aegon had expected it and took it stoically although it pained him to hear the truth spoken so bluntly. Alor Gargalen would have never told Aegon that people doubted Jaehaerys, that they didn't approve of him, that they waited for him to die – but the Hand should tell the King the truth as he saw it. Aegon was surprised by the resentment that overwhelmed him all of a sudden – anger just as hot as Alor's own, fury that could set the sands of Dorne afire. He went to the window and stared at it to hide his emotion and for the first time he wondered whether their friendship would survive Alor's new position.

"My Lord Commander?" he asked and turned back to look at Ser Duncan.

The one-time hedge knight had progressed far from the first year when he had looked terrified each time he had been expected to counsel the King. Now, he nodded in confirmation. "If we keep waiting for the boy to come around, his hair will turn white before he does. But I believe that once wed, he'll grow accustomed to it and the responsibilities he has to the succession of this House."

That was exactly what Aegon himself was convinced in. And yet… He looked at the fourth man in the room, the one who had yet to say a word. "And what about you, Ser Galend? Do you agree?"

"No," the old man said, without hesitation. "I don't."

The relief surged through Aegon like a great wave. The piercing dark eyes staring at his showed him that Ser Galend realized why he had been summoned. So, it hadn't been just a fear of Aegon's. There was someone else who was against the idea. He felt that now, he might finally find out what the grounds for his own reluctance to the idea were.

He turned back to the window, both to hide his expression and see the source of the din echoing off the walls in the courtyard. In a cloud of dust, a riding party arrived. The rider in the lead jumped from his lathered horse and took the bridle, then looked up, as if he knew he was being watched. On his tanned face, the purple eyes shone like amethysts. He swept his hat off with a flourish and bowed, his silvery-white hair now streaked with gold, no doubt thanks to the blazing Dornish sun. Aegon smiled and waved at him. Then, he turned to the others. "Mikkel," he said.

"Mikkel?" Alor repeated and went to the window. From below, his son waved at him, too. Alor returned the gesture. "He was supposed to arrive tomorrow. He must have spurred Lord Qorgyle's sand steeds to death. If so, he'll be training new ones for him in person and I don't care how he finds the time. "

Aegon held his smirk back. He didn't think it was possible for a sand steed to be spurred to run to death and even if it were, Alor surely must have killed at least a dozen in his youth. But of course, with his son it was different. For a few years, his idea of raising his eldest when he was home had seemed to be, the less free time Mikkel got, the less follies he could commit.

"He's brown now," Aegon said, unnecessarily. "He looks… weird."

Behind him, the Lord Commander laughed. "You looked even weirder when we came back from Dorne," he said. "At least the boy has hair."

Aegon laughed. It was true, he supposed. He had looked weird when he had had the chance to see his reflection in the pools and rivers they had passed by.

"A strange boy, your Mikkel is," Ser Duncan went on, addressing the Hand. "The maesters sing his praises, yet he doesn't take their ramblings all that seriously. Since he could read, he's been spending lots of time in the library, yet he manages to take part in every thrashing that's more serious. And he doesn't care whether he deals with the High Septon or the King's Hand – if he feels he's in the right, nothing can move him."

"Especially with the King's Hand," Alor muttered. "It's your lord father's fault," he told Aegon. "I am sorry but it is."

"Don't I know it," Aegon sighed. King Maekar had been a hard man and he'd been in constant conflicts with his sons – but he had spoiled his grandchildren to no end. They had only needed to ask something of him to get it – often something that their parents forbade, unless it was outright dangerous. As a result, they had started thinking that they were allowed to do whatever they liked. Alor at least had raised objections. Aegon hadn't bothered – he had figured that there would be little use of it. Of course, Maekar hadn't paid any attention to his goodson's protests but lately, Aegon had started to realize that those hadn't been entirely useless. Mikkel and his brother had seen that their father did not agree and that sometimes had made them stop and think, letting Alor establish some control. Jaehaerys had never been demanding but Duncan… even now, he was little inclined to listen to his father about things that really mattered.

The boy disappeared into the castle and Alor returned to his seat. Aegon shivered with sudden cold and closed the window before turning to his father's old friend. "Ser, you were telling me why you didn't think it was a good idea?"

"Was I, really?" Ser Galend muttered. "Well, I think that it isn't the moment to further isolate the dynasty into itself. Times aren't as good as to allow further estrangement with the rest of the Great Houses."

Aegon almost reminded him that there was no 'rest' of the Great Houses. House Targaryen was above everyone else. But he held his tongue: he knew what Ser Galend meant. And he really wanted to hear his opinion. Because it was not only the political aspect that scared him.

"On a more personal level," Ser Galen went on with his calm voice, "I do think the brother-sister marriages House Targaryen practices are detrimental."

Aegon was struck dumb. He hadn't quite expected _such_ honesty, not when he was in one of those _detrimental_ marriages.

Someone shouted something in the courtyard. Somewhere down the hall, a harp sounded. Ser Galend gave Aegon a steady look. "It isn't just my opinion," he said. "It was your father's, too."

"My father's?" Aegon repeated, the irony of the situation not lost on him. Ser Duncan snorted. Alor's eyes widened – he had got it.

The other man nodded. "I know what you're thinking. He knew it, too. To him, it was the only possible way of action. He loved Aelinor, always had. They were good for each other. They were as happy as they could be in this horror around them. But you remember what kind of man your father used to be before she died. And what he became after." He shook his head. "To him, losing her was losing both his sister and his companion in life. And I think it wouldn't have been much better if he was never in love with her in the first place. Living together creates bond, especially if there is _any_ kind of love involved. For the life of me, I can't see why anyone would want to put his children through this unless there is absolutely no other choice."

That was it. The answer Aegon had been looking for. The real reason for his reluctance to bind his children to each other. The memory came back, as clear as the day it had been created.

"_Won't you come and dine with us? Rhae and the children will be thrilled."_

"_No."_

_Aegon looked around to make sure that there was no one around as they made their way back from the armory of the Red Keep. All around them there was a bustle of activity – blacksmiths, knights, and kitchen maidens running around with weapons and provisions. Loud voices shouted orders on the top of their lungs. King's Landing was preparing for stifling the latest uprising in the realm._

"_It's been six weeks already. Rhae and Daella are worried. I am, too," he added._

"_You're wasting your time, all of you. None of you can help. Just leave me alone and focus on your own lives before we leave. I'll be all right, at the end."_

_Aegon gave him a long look. His father could have told him that he intended to bring the moon down, and he'd have given his words just as much credence. Maekar did look like a ghost sent in the Red Keep to scare people away. He forced himself to eat but he couldn't force himself to sleep – unless he took a sleeping draught which he considered a sign of weakness. _

_All of a sudden, the King lost the last vestiges of his patience. "I would think that of all people, you'd be the one who understand but it seems I've overestimated you," he spat. "Think, Aegon, think! It's been six weeks already, you say. Actually, it's been only six weeks. Six weeks compared to my whole life. That's how long she's been in my life. Since I was born. And you expect that I'd get over her in six weeks?"_

_Aegon stopped dead in his tracks. His face went white. "That wasn't what I meant at…"_

"_I know it wasn't," Maekar snapped. "Of course it wasn't what you meant. I wonder whether you know what you meant. I am afraid you'll get to know how it is only when you're in my shoes. Because that's where you'll be one day. You know it, don't you?"_

_The young man could only stare, shocked. For all his harshness, Maekar had never been cruel to him. Not like this. _

"_We tamper with the laws of the Seven," Maekar went on, his voice dripping ice. "Once, we tampered with magic, we Targaryens. And we pay for it, always. You'll pay, too, Aegon. Believe me, you will pay. You won't get away with it any more than I did… Just wait! You'll lose Rhae, too."_

_The shudder tore the veil of shock. Aegon made a step backward, disbelieving to what he had just heard. "And you wish it upon me?!"_

"_Of course I don't! But that's what will happen. You'll lose her, or she'll lose you one day. That's the order of things. That's what you did to yourselves, just as we did. One day, your children will have the same thing happening to them… until someone breaks this accursed cycle of ours."_

_Aegon kept retreating. His pride was the only thing that kept him from turning back and running away as fast as he could from his father's severity and the fear that he could not put down._

All this flashed in the King's memory for no longer than a moment. He wondered how he could have ever forgotten it. Surely such ugliness, such despair could never be forgotten?

He took his goblet to his suddenly parched lips.

"All right," he said. "What alliances do you have in mind?"


	4. Chapter 4

Thank you, soso-lacks-imagination and Oberon Sexton, for your constant reviews. I am not sure I could have kept this story going without having someone to write it for.

_Live to Love_

Chapter 4

When Duncan returned from his hunting expedition at the Kingswood with his entourage, the nobles were going to the great hall for the evening banquet. He took off the heavy hat from his sweaty head and grinned at the thought that he would contribute to the meals for the next day. His catch had been good, including two deer – no mean feat in winter.

But he forgot all about his bragging plans when he entered the stables.

The horse was pale as dawn, with a mane and tail of gold. The narrow head and slim frame showed that he was, no doubt, a Dornish sand steed. It gave Duncan a long look and snorted. Long graceful legs and fire in his eyes – this was Duncan's horse. Or at least, he would be.

"Who is the owner of this animal?" he asked the nearest stable-hand.

"Mikkel Gargalen, Your Grace," the boy said and Duncan's smile of delight faded.

He decided to bathe before he went to dinner. His mother wouldn't have him in the great hall as he was – mud, sweat, and all. And he wouldn't like to have Alaenys wrinkle her nose, either. He told his people to go and make themselves presentable, too, and headed for his chambers.

Of course, no one expected him. While they were drawing him a bath, he decided to get a stroll around Maegor's Holdfast. Unfortunately, Rhaelle had already left for dinner. Jaehaerys, though, was still in his chambers – and it seemed he had no intention to go to the great hall at all. He was lying half-propped against a pile of pillows on the couch. _His belly hurts_, Duncan thought. His brother was very pale, his face drawn in a way that was an unmistakable indicator of pain but he was laughing, his eyes shining as he and Mikkel were talking over each other, clearly delighted to be in each other's company after Mikkel had spent almost a year in Dorne. Plates of food, mostly untouched, cluttered the low table between them.

Jaehaerys was facing the door so he was the first one to notice his brother's arrival. At seeing his look, Mikkel turned. "Oh it's you," he said. "Was the hunt a success?"

"What do you think?" Duncan replied, doing his best to hide the slight antipathy he felt. Out of all of his cousins, this was the one he liked least. As usual, he found Mikkel physically repulsive. Oh his cousin was growing into a very handsome boy, there was nothing wrong with his looks! It was his expression that was the problem. His purple eyes were set too wide apart. In his presence, Duncan always felt crushed by a powerful mind, dissected and analyzed ruthlessly – and too often found lacking. Mikkel preferred Jaehaerys. Duncan would have understood if his cousin was a bookworm or something but Mikkel really wasn't. He wasn't too much of… anything. Just enough of everything to be universally liked by the tutors they shared. Even Duncan's father who was constantly dissatisfied with his children had only praise for his nephew. At least Mikkel's own father didn't find him so flawless. "Next time, you might come with me," he added.

The younger boy smiled. "Thanks but it'll have to wait for another year or two. I am here only for a short time. Lord Qorgyle wants me back in two months."

And a good thing it was.

The boy's smile showed that he knew what Duncan was thinking – and that he found it amusing. Really, Mikkel was as infuriating as his mother Daella was a calming influence.

"Tell us about your exploits at Kingswood," Jaehaerys prompted and leaned his head back, closing his eyes. His hand went to his upper belly and started rubbing gently. Neither Duncan nor Mikkel said a word – they knew that he did not realize what he was doing. And they didn't want him to lose even the slightest relief he could find.

So Duncan started talking about the hunting trip. He was doing his best to sound light-hearted when he was, in fact, bursting with resentment. With his arrival, Jaehaerys had become quiet and withdrawn, letting the pain get the better of him. _Why is it that with me, he can't be the way he is with Mikkel,_ Duncan seethed_. What does Mikkel have that I don't? He's years younger than Jaehaerys and he wasn't even here for months. I am always here – why does he prefer _him_?_

His feelings made his tone harsh when he turned to his cousin. "I saw the sand steed at our stables."

Mikkel smiled, his eyes shining with pride. "Shalaan," he explained. "He's one year old."

"He's magnificent."

"Yes," the boy confirmed. "He is."

"Are we talking about the dawn horse?" Jaehaerys asked without opening his eyes. His cheeks had become a touch paler, his hand was resting to his side, as if even the slightest touch was too much for his belly now.

Duncan grinned. That was how he had named the stallion in his thoughts_. We aren't so different, my brother and I_, he thought, pleased. "I want to buy him," he told Mikkel.

"He isn't for sale," the boy said.

"You don't even know the price I would offer," Duncan said. A look at Jaehaerys told him that he was not likely to eat more for tonight, so Duncan treated himself to a morsel of his brother's barely touched dinner.

"I don't care about the price." Mikkel's voice was calm. "Lord Qorgyle gave him to me. It's a present. And he's _mine_. I can find you another sand steed, just as good. But not Shalaan."

"I don't want another sand steed. I want this one."

"I told you I am not selling him."

"Look, I am ready to give you…"

Mikkel rose angrily, in a rare outburst of feelings. His foot got caught in the tablecloth. Plates and goblets clattered down. Meats, vegetables, and wine flew around and started soaking in the carpet. Both Duncan and Jaehaerys stared at him, surprised.

"Let's get clear, Duncan." Mikkel's fair face was flushed with rage. "You can charm the world as much as you want to. You can bribe everyone else as much as you want to. But don't even try it with me." He paused. "The kingdom is yours. Westeros is yours – or at least, it will be. I'll defend your power over this land to the last drop of my lifeblood. But Duncan, _this horse is mine and I won't give it up even for Dragonstone, _so stop pressing me and thinking you can manipulate me into parting with him!"

Stunned, Duncan could only stare. For the life of him, he had not expected such an outburst. He had only offered to buy a bloody horse!

Mikkel circled around the table and touched Jaehaerys' hand. "I am sorry I couldn't control myself," he said, remorse evident in his face. "I'll clean the mess."

"Not now," Jaehaerys said. The waves of pain in his belly weren't his only problem, his head throbbed, too, and the thought of hearing any clatter again was not appealing.

Mikkel nodded. "I'll come to visit you tomorrow," he promised. "Or you can visit me if you're up to it. Get better."

Duncan watched him leaving, his jaw almost dislocating itself. Fury rose in him once again. So, Mikkel was allowed to mention Jaehaerys' health now, wasn't he? If Duncan did it, or Rhaelle, or their parents, Jaehaerys would grow angry but with Mikkel – oh no problem there!

"Are you pleased with yourself now that you ousted him?" Jaehaerys asked, tiredly. He didn't try to rise but his irritation was evident.

"What?" Duncan snapped. "What was he doing here, anyway? Aren't you tired with him getting in your way whenever he's here?"

Jaehaerys glared at him. "What makes you think he's getting in my way? Hasn't it occurred to you that maybe I want him to be here?"

"Oh it has, certainly!" Duncan spat. "You love him more than you love us."

All of a sudden, Jaehaerys laughed. It hurt him but it was clearly a real feeling. Irritated, Duncan realized that his brother was thinking him childish and jealous. "What does love have to do with it? He likes being with me, that's all. And I like being with him."

"_I_ like being with you, too," Duncan retorted. "And so does Rhaelle."

Jaehaerys' expression grew serious. He tried to sit up and Duncan hurried to help him.

"Does it really bother you so much?" Jaehaerys asked. "My friendship with Mikkel? You have friends of your own."

Duncan nodded. It was different. He couldn't say why but it was.

Jaehaerys sighed. His eyes looked past Duncan, far away, to a place his brother could not follow. "He finds me interesting, Duncan," he finally said. "He wants to hear what I have to say. He waits for me as long as I need him to. And he doesn't drop me as soon as something better comes along."

Duncan felt insulted. "I never did that!" he protested. And paused. He loved his brother but it was true, he didn't find him very interesting, with his constant reading and treatments. Jaehaerys was smarter than most people but well… he was quite boring. Too serious. Rhaelle also thought so. It had just never occurred to Duncan that his brother might be aware of their feelings.

"Am I really this horrible?" he asked contritely.

Jaehaerys smiled faintly. "Not horrible, no. But you can be quite inconsiderate. I don't stand between you and your many friends, Duncan. Can't you let me have the few ones I can find?" He snuggled against his pillows in a failed attempt to find a position that was less painful and closed his eyes.

Duncan felt like the most wretched person alive. "I'll try," he promised and rose. For a moment, he hesitated. He wanted to touch his brother's hand like Mikkel had but decided against it. "See you tomorrow," he said and left.

In the far end of the hallway, he spotted a glimpse of a blue gown. When he came near, he smiled despite himself. Here she was, the girl he couldn't stop to think about, to the exclusion of all others. "How are you, my lady?" he asked.

To his surprise, Alaenys Blackfyre curtsied too deeply and answered, very formally, "The Queen sent me to check on Prince Jaehaerys."

What was wrong with her? Duncan rolled his eyes and let her be. He couldn't handle another clash for today. He decided to postpone it for later and let her proceed to Jaehaerys' chambers without trying to stop her. His bath was probably ready by now, although he was in no mood to join the laughter in the great hall.

* * *

What had happened in this room? Had there been a food fight, or had the two brothers overturned the tables with all plates and goblets?

"A little difference in opinion," Jaehaerys said softly from the couch. He tried to rise but fell back with a soft moan.

Alaenys rushed to his side. He was terribly pale, huddled to one side as if he could not lie on his back. She had seen him washed-out, of course, but she had never witnessed one of his episodes of full-blown pain and she was stunned and a little afraid. "The Queen sent me to check on you," she said. She did not add that she had been more than willing to obey if that meant she could leave the hall before Prince Duncan came in. "How are you feeling?"

He smiled weakly. "I've been better."

Even his voice was different. Once again, Alaenys felt a touch of fear but it did not repel her, it brought her closer to him, like that overheard conversation in the garden had brought him closer to her. She looked around for a decanter.

"Water," Jaehaerys murmured. "Not wine. At the sideboard."

Alaenys poured a goblet, sat down next to him, lifted his head and brought the goblet to his lips. He drank slowly, sip by sip. She waited patiently, thinking of all the rumours she had heard about him, how his being sickly equaled his being weak. She was now dismayed with herself for having believed that, albeit for a short time. She had never seen him as worthy, not like she had seen his dashing brother. Duncan who had everything coming to him so easily. Duncan who had nothing to want for because he had it all. Jaehaerys' very living meant a daily struggle. And she had seen _Duncan _as the worthy one? _Sometimes people fight not to be dashing but to stay alive_, she thought.

Jaehaerys turned his head slightly aside. Alaenys took the goblet off. "Do you want some milk of poppy?" she asked, lowering him back against the pillows.

"No," he murmured. "I'd rather keep my conscience. I'll fall asleep soon anyway."

She started to rise but he reached out and caught her hand. As if her presence brought him comfort. As if he needed her. No one else ever had. She settled back.

Soon, his breathing evened out. Only when she was sure he was fast asleep, she worked her hand free, very carefully.


End file.
